She was beautiful, of course. He had an eye for beauty, which made sense. Steff had been surrounded by the finest things all his life. Consequently, he knew how to recognize them.
But her clothes, goddamn. A poor imitation of that New Romantics bullshit. Yet that was part of her appeal, in a way, because she needed him. She needed someone who could polish her. She was a diamond in the rough. If she were his, he'd take her into the city for a full day and leave with a whole new wardrobe. Pleated skirts and clingy turtlenecks in every color of the rainbow. Silk blouses. Benetton sweaters. A shorts suit. A gold cuff. Lingerie, definitely - a sheer white babydoll.
Steff's imagination was spiraling quickly into dangerous territory and had latched onto the image of Andie in the babydoll, through which he could see nipples the same color as her full, pouting coral lips.
"Mr. McKee." The sound of authority broke through his rosy reverie. He was sitting in the back row of math class. Mr. Kershaw was glaring at him from the front. "Though it is the last day of the school year, the last day of your high school career, and the last class of the day, I don't think it's outrageous to expect participation in mandatory class discussion." Steff leaned languidly forward on the desk, partially to further annoy Kershaw (bad posture among students was his particular pet peeve), and partially to conceal what was going on in his pants as a result of the daydream. "Yes, well, if you could just repeat the question, sir," he drawled. Kershaw's glare intensified. "We were going around the room sharing summer plans, plans for next year, and goals for the future."
"Bermuda...Yale...CEO and president of McKee Enterprises," Steff deadpanned while pulling a cigarette from his pocket and sticking it between his teeth, signifying the end of the discussion. He tuned out once more as other students chimed in with their petty summer camping trips and no-name colleges . He had more important things on his mind.