Chanele didn't hear a word Mr. Sir said. She just nodded her head and twisted her chocolate brown, long, wavy hair around her fingers and occasionally flipped her side swept bangs out of her face. The only time she spoke rather than mumbled was when Mr. Sir told her to change. She squealed and whined so much that he ended up shoving both orange jumpsuits in her arms and telling her if she wouldn't change in there, she'd have to change in her new tent.
D-tent.
She smiled fakely while the little man-Pendanski? Yeah-showed her around camp, then led her to D tent, telling her she just needed to be changed by dinner. Chanele almost cried when she plopped herself on to the cot and the scent of sour milk wafted its way into her nostrils. "This is worse than the time…." She started to say, then let her tears escape, knowing that Camp Green Lake was the worst thing that has ever happened to her. But Chanele hated the tears, so she wiped her face quickly and dug into her suitcase for a mirror. She gasped when she saw herself. Her eyes were red and puffy, her lips, chapped and sun damaged, and her hair was frizzing from the humidity. She rapidly brushed her locks until they shined tremendously, then she doused her skin and lips with sunscreen, finishing with a touch of mascara to her super long lashes and the perfume that deals with heat the best, Estee Lauder Pleasures(not mine). Now, her perfect-color-between-super-tan-and-pale skin looked dewy and luminous, her eyes bright and intense, and her lips playful and the perfect rosy shade of pink. She smiled at her reflection, then made her way to the "rec room."
An unfamiliar stench breezed past her as she walked in. UGH! It was a wreck! "Oh!" she giggled softly at the punned name of the room. Suddenly she snapped out of it, and looked around to a room full of boys. Dirty, gross boys. Cute, hot boys. NO! These boys were delinquents, she was not. Nevertheless, they were all staring blankly at her. She silently wished that she hadn't made herself look so flawless. A dark-skinned boy with thick, dirty glasses rubbed his spectacles with his hands as to clean them, but instead got the caked dirt from his skin smeared on them.
Chanele's POV
I glanced around the room slowly, then someone caught my eye. One boy wasn't looking at me. Just one. His face was blank, his stare too. But his attention was completely on the TV. I looked at the screen. Nothing. I glared at him quizzically. How was a broken television set more important than a beautiful girl in an all boy's delinquent camp?
Normal POV
Chanele huffed, crossed her arms tightly, and sighed, placing herself gracefully beside TV-stare boy. He was really cute, and really tall. Chanele could tell just by him sitting. His legs were stretched underneath a beat-down, paint scratched coffee table from his seat on the saggy couch. She scooted closer to him and moved so she was leaning forward, towards the fuzzy box he was watching so intently. Her feet barely touched the ground. And now, just inches from him, he didn't notice her. The other boys laughed hysterically. One, a Hispanic with a bandana tied around his head sang, "Hey Ziggy!" at the top of his lungs. Tall TV boy, or "Ziggy" as bandana boy had called him, broke his trance, bewildered, until another boy with a doorag and a baseball cap on his head with a toothpick in his mouth grinned and turned "Ziggy's" head towards Chanele. He saw her, jumped a few feet in the air as his campmates laughed at him, and then "Ziggy" scrambled up and joined his friends in the group stare at Chanele.