She sits with a smirk on her face, listening intently. Her hair up on her head, posture nearly perfect. Her knees stick out of her skirt and then her legs travel to her boots. One leg under the desk in front of her and the other bent playfully out towards the room. She holds her lips just barely apart, her eyes shadowed by her long eyelashes. She looks so soft, she looks almost fragile. She speaks careful well-thought sentences giving her input for better understanding. Her soft voice carries to the ears of her onlookers. She acts like she doesn�t know that so many people watch her constantly; that so many desire for her attention, and others desire to be her. She sits with a sense of honor maybe because of the prestige given to her by those around her, or maybe by the knowledge of being wanted or desired.
What does she think about? What does she do with the knowledge of how others think of her? What is the difference between her and all the others? How does she act when she�s not in a group? Who is she when she is not being watched? How would anyone figure this out? Only she knows, and only she can tell about what goes on in her head while she sits there being admired.
