You and Ryan are playing 1-on-1 basketball in the park that Friday after school. It's what you two normally do when nobody else in your social circle has any plans for the evening.
Ryan winces as you expertly dribble the ball past him and complete the layup, leaping into the air and depositing the ball through the hoop. You're both pretty tall, and you're sure Ryan could play alongside you on the school's basketball team if he wasn't such a pussyhound. Ever since puberty, this suburban white Don Juan couldn't stop thinking about sex or conquering some 'slam piece' for five seconds. Ryan's libido is legendary at school, which has helped him net more than a few girlfriends over a tumultuous three year period. But you've both attended church together and he plays the part of 'repentant sinner' for his family so it washes out in the end.
Today, Ryan notices you letting off more steam than usual. "Dude, Elliott, what's up with you today? You in a bad mood or somethin?" Wiping sweat off his face with a towel, he pauses to refill his water bottle at a nearby fountain.
"Trying to shake off what happened in today's English class." You reply, cradling the basketball against your side while staring down Ryan.
"The one with Mrs. Berg? I haven't heard, what did she do this time?" Inquires Ryan. You shoot the ball casually while retelling the day's events to your best friend:
"You know how Mrs. Berg was talking up that one 'alternative education' conference she went to last week? It made such an impression on her, apparently, that she changed the class subject to some new age bullshit called 'Integration to Eliminate Social Borders,' or just 'The Integration.' So basically, she just randomly paired us up with someone else in class and we had to roleplay what we thought living their life for a day would be like.
"We had to interview that person and, y'know, learn about their life. Part of the thing was Mrs. Berg wouldn't give us any questions to ask or how to go pretending to be the other person. She wanted it to be an organic process." You scoff.
"Doesn't sound so bad." Ryan mutters. "So who'd you pair up with?"
"Isabelle Jones."
Ryan smirked wryly while shaking his head. "Oh, now I know why you hated class today."
"Isabelle freakin' Jones." You repeat. "The know-it-all." Isabelle is the smartest girl in school... and she doesn't let anyone forget it. Constantly inserting her own opinion into matters, strutting about with her sanctimonious personality, insisting that women have it worse everywhere compared to men. Perhaps you wouldn't feel so enraged if Isabelle weren't also ridiculously hot. Despite hanging out with the nerds and other social outcasts, Isabelle was easily a ten out of ten in the looks department. She keeps her body well toned and in excellent shape but scorns anything to do with organized sports. Her jet-black hair cascades in immaculate frills about her shoulders. Her brilliant green eyes shine through a set of oversized post-ironic nerd glasses. Her breasts are large, firm, and teardrop shaped. The rest of her luscious curves could have been sculpted by a Renaissance artist.
Her body is, in a word, mouthwatering. But Isabelle Jones balances her God-given 'assets' out with a shit personality and a shit choice of friends and interests. Everyone knows of her stunning hourglass figure in spite of her choice to wear as baggy and bland clothing as possible.
Before Mrs. Berg's class, you had never really talked to Isabelle before. And you still don't, except for the forced pairing you had to endure earlier today.
"So what did she talk to you about? I can only guess." Asks Ryan.
"She hardly let me get a word in edgewise," You explain. "First, she listed all the ways men are oppressing women in society today. The gender wage gap: Men earn more money than women. Men are more respected in the workplace than women. Men are more likely to promote other men than promote a woman. Men are likelier to be the President of large companies. Maternal leave policies. Yadda yadda yadda..."
"Go on," Grins Ryan, enjoying listening to you rage while he continues shooting the ball.
"Then she talks about personal life. How women can't go out by themselves alone at night for fear of being robbed or raped. Which I agree is an unfortunate reality. But then she goes on about women having to take care of the man of the household: barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen."
"Who even does that anymore?" Ryan interjects.
"Anyway," You continue, speeding up the story. "Today in class Isabelle asks me some details about my life, then each of us get like five minutes to act like we are that person and talk about our perspectives or some shit. So when it's finally Isabelle's turn, she goes up to the front of class and talks shit about me and my life the whole time.
"Saying I like being some kind of oppressor misogynist who gets off to the idea of bending over a secretary over my desk in an office while counting my money or something. Like seriously 100 percent Isabelle Jones for you. She's a granola crunching tosser."
"Okay, that was her spiel and I'm sure the class collectively rolled its eyes." Summarizes Ryan. "What did you say when it was your turn to speak?"
"I didn't do it," You replied simply. "If you got nothing nice to say about a person, you don't say anything at all."
"I'll bet the teacher liked that." Jabs Ryan.
"I don't give a crap what Mrs. Berg thinks," You retort hotly. "Her class is hippy nonsense and everyone knows it. But the problem is: Since I refused to do her stupid role play thing, she's making me come to her classroom on Monday before school starts."
"Why's she making you do that?"
"I dunno," You shrug truthfully. "She said something about some empathy charm she was going to try out to help me better get into the role as Isabella Jones. Sounds like another one of the bogus relics she carried out of Woodstock with her."
"So you gonna go there Monday morning or what?" Asks Ryan, by this point more focused on a couple of babes jogging on the park trail than on your own lamentations. He's watching their boobs bouncing hypnotically in rhythm within their sports bras as they jog by.
"I have to go," You grumble, "Or else she's threatening to fail me this semester. If I fail her class, it sets me back from graduating and getting the hell out of this dump."
"Dude, just play her game and move on with your life." Ryan tears his eyes away from the young women and shoots the ball through the hoop. "At least you only have to pretend to be Isabella. She's made that life for herself and has to live in it every day. Imagine how shitty that must be!" He guffaws.
You nod, wondering what living Isabelle's life would actually be like. Shuddering at the very thought.
Where do we go next?
  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
<<-- Previous · Outline  · Recent Additions © Copyright 2025 Clockworange (UN: clockworange at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
fred has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work within this interactive story. Poster accepts all responsibility, legal and otherwise, for the content uploaded, submitted to and posted on Writing.Com. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author