Prompt: A character is wrong about someone

I slid into the back of the classroom, hoping that by looking at the tile floor and not making eye contact with Ms. Lopez she wouldn’t notice me.

“Ahh, Sabrina. Kind of you to join us.”

I gave her a sheepish grin as I made my way to my normal seat.

“If you were on time, you’d know that you are headed to the wrong spot. You’ll be working with Ms. Smith today.”

I looked about my surroundings quizzically to notice we had indeed been assigned new desks. Monica Smith turned, her perfectly rolled curls bouncing as she cocked her head to the side and beamed at me.

Jesus Christ. She looked like she’d come straight from a Pantene commercial.

I gave her a weak smile in return. There was absolutely no way Monica and I would have jack shit in common and I was already filling with dread at the thought of having to feign interest in Real Housewives or whatever the hell else she was into. She was abysmally cheerful. And it was clear that the Starbucks she kept in hand—undoubtfully more sugar that coffee—was working overtime. It was humanly unnatural to be so energetic and goddam happy all the time.

I slinked into my chair and nodded at her, pulling out the book I was reading in hopes it communicated that I was in no mood to gab.

“Ahh, Durga Chew-Bose, one of my favs,” she said. She slid her Dior purse toward her side of the table to make room for me and adjusted her fuzzy pink sweater over her pleated white skirt. “If you like essays, it’s very different from Durga but I’ve been loving Randall Kenan lately.”

I snorted and stared at her trying to see if she was fucking with me. Kenan and Chew-Bose weren’t exactly "required-reading" type authors and I couldn’t imagine how else she might have found her way to them. She held my gaze, and raised her eyebrows, daring me to challenge her on it.

“Yeah, I like him… Which of his essays did you like?” 

“Ugh, I loved his essay about Eartha Kitt. People don’t talk enough about how much of a badass she was. I love a woman who can use her sex appeal to control the people around her.” She winked at me, putting the straw from her Frappacino between her painted red lips. I watched as the whipped cream began receding down the inside of the cup.

My face flushed. Maybe we’d have something to talk about after all.