Georgina raised her head when they asked her.
She shut her eyes, the long lashes perfect, curved lips flush and sensuous, and what a lovely neck she had. Nearly clear, almost golden, but no tan. No, she was their spokesmodel for a reason — the fair epitome of being ‘born with it’ — the plastic banner “Maybelline” lifted gently at its edge as the fan passed to point at that end of the auditorium.
“Never pick.” Georgina said.
Instantly, thirty-seven girls swept fingers over their iphones, so many oblong moonlights flickered on. The teachers and grownups up front leaned forward, trying to listen over the twelfth graders’ giddy mumbling.
“Never, ever…” Giselle raised her head a moment, and flapped her ears. “When you pick, you… it’s better to just use a hot cloth. As hot as you can stand. Don’t burn yourself. Oh, how many of you softies so easily burn yourselves —”
The principal, Ms. Boston, crooned, “Well, we are stuck in skin.”
Nobody laughed. Well, except for Georgina. she always found a kind smile or something for any beast who was trying…
“But, after a minute or two, and at least three times a day, the bump will go down. I’m serious!” Her large chocolate eyes brightened. The girls in the back laughed and Georgina flapped her ears thoughtfully again. “The pimple just goes back down. Then, there’s no scarring. Easy.”
Principal Boston waved her hand quickly, for someone to get up and ask another question, but Georgina’s agent, the crisp Maybelline representative, opened her arm to the tall giraffe, offering a way for her to step safely off the stage and around people.
“Back to class,” Sasha Luvin smiled. Next she whispered to the principal, “Of course, we need to promote the right kind of student. And, everyone’s tweeting already, look at that —”
Ms. Boston hastily clapped her hands for the students in the back to turn their phones off. The whole auditorium’s attention got snatched by that — and so the very last glimpse of the teenage star were her long back legs buckling as she tried to drag herself, sweeping tail and all, through the double doors.
Georgina the giraffe had done it enough times now that the seal above the door finally split into a proper crack and the amber “EXIT” sign flickered then went right off.
A file of teeth-sucking twelfth graders followed, their harujuku’d uniform skirts rolled all the way up, and they whining about how tall, how slim, how tan and how pretty Georgina always was. Then, they teased each other about the crazy-cute lyrics of the latest Katy Perry song.
Somewhere, out there, the giraffe just hated that they were perfectly right to fit through doors and that she couldn’t sing it.