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just a picture of a cloud
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Georgia Lee turned sharply when Aiden mentioned his bedroom, scanning his face for a hint of lasciviousness. All that her eyes found was the same vacant grin that had greeted her earlier.

Was that his game? Lure Juniors to his bedroom, pretending to need tutoring? Perhaps he was a completely different kind of desperate than what she'd first expected. With the height and the nose, perhaps this was his only option.

Or perhaps it was her, specifically. She knew how some of her peers thought of her, had been told it to her face on more than one occasion. Prude. Bitch. Frigid. Like there was something wrong with her, that she didn't find the combination of acne and Axe body spray appealing. He certainly wouldn't have been the first to try his luck with her. Was that what was going on here? Some idiotic bet with his idiot friends? See if I can melt the Ice Queen?

Well, she certainly wouldn't be having any part of it. The couch was out too, of course. The plushiest thing she would ever sit would certainly not do. Georgia Lee didn't even want to know what he intended to do there.

"The kitchen should be fine, I think. And it's Georgia Lee, thanks."

It wasn't unreasonable, she thought, to want to be addressed by one's name. Georgia Lee didn't even particularly like her name - named for a slave state and a slaver general - but it was her name, and she deserved the respect of being addressed by it. Just because Beaks was content letting people address him by some ridiculous nickname didn't mean that everyone else was so eager to abandon their dignity. To be addressed by one's name was the most basic of common courtesies, but it was amazing how often Georgia Lee had to fight even for that.

And Lee Lee? Really and truly. It sounded like a panda, for goodness' sake.

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What Are Little Boys Made Of? · The Neighborhood