{ Chapter Twelve: The Stereotypical Hypocrite of Anti-Stereotypes }

FIVE MINUTES BEFORE WORK ENDED, Janice met Tiffany. Pro: she was gorgeous, and Janice knew at least one more person than she had before. Con: she really rewrote the bitchiness in the idea of a typical airhead.

If Janice were authorized to address her opinion freely, she would've asked the girl if the hair dye she used affected her brain activity, because if there were any stereotypes available for blonde, dumb, idiotic bimbo's? A Wikipedia page link would've been attached to that label, along with Tiffany's plastic body. And soul.

"The gang asked me to get you. So, you're the new girl?" Tiffany asked, curiosity obvious on her (stupidly gorgeous) face.

"As we've covered for the past minute, yup." Janice replied, already disliking this girl immensely.

She felt as if she were teleported back to school, traveling to meet the snobs that thought they owned the place. These people were controlling and thought they deserved everything. 

Growing up with a mindset that 'you can only deserve what you earn', you could say that Janice didn't want to waste time on people who didn't get that motto. And if there's anything about Janice, even co-workers can't be made exceptions.

"Well, I guess you're not dressed that bad," Tiffany said, and Janice can almost feel the bulging vein on the side of her neck start to throb. "Expected a little more height and oomph, but you'll do."

"Glad to approach your reasonable standards," Janice said sarcastically, before turning her attention to the closing gates of the store. "Now, c'mon, I have to lock up last. Brielle already left, so we might as well go, too."

"Brielle? God, let's not. I can't really deal with her bubbly attitude right now."

Clenching her teeth, Janice decides that having a fist fight with her might not be the smartest thing. 

I might break her knuckles on the girl's rhinoplasty or something, Janice seethes, and whoever did her schnozzle, Tiffany probably should've sued. 

Instead, she flips off the power, watching the lively place dim, the place looking more eerie as a haunted house than any fantasy land.

She didn't even speak until they got to the downstairs parking lot, where Brielle had told her to come before she'd left. Tiffany's (obnoxious) presence followed Janice, which she could only tell from the slight heels clicking the floor, shadowing behind Janice's own rapid steps.

"They're just down the lot." Tiffany told her, and Janice nodded to signify that she understood. They made their way to the empty lot, looking around for the group, until they caught sight of the silhouettes Janice supposes is of the group.

"You going to tell me why you've been silent this entire time?" Tiffany speaks up, catching Janice off guard. "I may not be talkative, but even I can sense awkward pauses." 

It wasn't as if Janice thought that Tiffany was terrible, or at least, that bad (okay lie, she did). It was just the superiority that Tiffany emitted, as if only Tiffany's own standing mattered, which Janice, you could say too quickly, gathered from the comment about Brielle and Janice's clothes Tiffany had said earlier. 

Deciding that she'd humour the girl, her tone is frosty when she replies. "I like Brielle. I like my clothes. I don't take too kind to people who think otherwise, I guess."

Tiffany just let this register, immediately understanding the cold shoulder, especially with what she had been spitting out today. She hadn't expected to feel guilty about her previous brusque comments, because she knows her personality is just as brutally honest as she is. She's never thought about how misinterpreted the things she said could be, as silly as that might sound. 

In her opinion, she feels like speaking the truth is better than trying to feign what she feels, but, then again, that didn't mean she couldn't keep her mouth shut once in a while.

"I had a bad day," Tiffany confesses, and Janice is so caught off guard that she trips twice before catching herself. "I'm a candid person, I say things as I feel they are, and I know that might not be so appealing, but that's just how I am. I'm a grouch and I know that. I won't change, either. But that doesn't mean it wasn't uncalled for to be so rude, so I'm sorry."

Janice is so bewildered, she's sure her jaw is on the floor, collecting dust and chewed gum. She hadn't expected Tiffany to open up. Hell, she wasn't sure if Tiffany was going to say anything remotely nice back.

This wasn't in her manual of stereotypes, instructions up in the wind. Is there every really a guide to these type of situations? 

"It's not mostly your fault," Janice scratched the back of her head. "I've been real crappy in trying to open up to you more and you didn't have enough to work with. While we're at it, I feel like I've been pretty nervous, so my nerves have been skyrocketing." 

And this isn't quite untrue. Janice had overanalyzed a few comments of Tiffany's and automatically placed her with girls that she'd read about in stories or met, and that was error on her part. Though you can't really blame Janice; the poor girl hasn't had much to work with, either. 

She has a flawed judgement, and until proven wrong, she sticks to it, so Tiffany was seriously throwing a curveball Janice hadn't been ready to catch. 

After swallowing a couple times, blinking to erase any doubt that she's only presently dreaming, she follows up to say, "I-I don't care if you're blunt. There's just certain way to say it. And if it's offensive, then just don't say anything at all, I guess. Though, I, uh, appreciate your, um, honesty. Thanks for, uh, clearing that up."

Tiffany nods, crossing her arms around her midsection. "As long as you stop giving me dirty looks from the corner of your eye every time you look my way, that would be great. I get enough of those already."

Janice feels a pang of empathy at that statement. "Deal. Does that mean we're on truce?"

Janice doesn't know who's more surprised, her or Tiffany, when Tiffany smiles (not the artificial one plastered on before) and nods. But it doesn't matter who is, other than she'd gotten at least one more person to like her.

Now another struggle of people to get through without punching.

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THE SMALL GROUP IS STANDING AROUND A CAR, one that Janice doesn't familiarize with in the dark, when the duo make their way over to them. The first sight she catches is Brielle's infamous brown ponytail, which whips behind her as she runs over to Janice and Tiffany.

"You guys finally made it! I was wondering where you disappeared off to," Brielle told Janice, "now pick a car to get into. We're all heading to this shop a couple streets from here. The other's are already there, so we should be going soon."

Brielle turns around at the sound of a cough, before her bright sapphire eyes snap back to Janice's chestnut. "Oh! I forgot to introduce you. This is Moira and Reneé, by the way. Moira and Reneé, this is Janice, the one I've been telling you about."

Moira, Janice believes, steps up front, a warm smile already present on her face. Janice is instantly drawn to her warm nature, adoring her soft features. "As Bri said, I'm Moira. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Janice."

Moira has, Janice notices, at least fifty different shades of blonde in her hair, along with a soft pink shirt that brought out the golden accents in it. 

Her comfortable jeans makes Janice enjoy the confidence Moira had in wearing casual clothing, thankful that she'd been wrong in assuming that all of them must've stepped out of catalogues all the time. "Thanks, Moira. Also, can I just say that I love your hair? It's kind of like an ombré and I like it. I tried a blonde hair colour once, long story short I can't rock yellow without looking like a highlighter, but you sure can."

"Aw, thanks," Moira smiles, and Janice notices that it's a crooked kind of smile, and this small gesture makes Janice like her even more. "I always had a penchant for the blonde colour and this just kind of started as an experimented, I guess, haha. I love your auburn, too. Now, we'll talk about hair colours later, I'm hogging you. This is Reneé."

Moira pointed to a girl with skin the colour of chocolate, whose eyes looked sepia and sparkled under the street lights. "Wondering when you were going to introduce me. Hey, Janice, I'm Reneé! There isn't much to say other than I love your blouse and you seem pretty chill. Don't impersonate a Donald Trump redneck and we'll get along great. Pretty much it."

Everyone chuckles at that. Janice starts to really wonder what she'd been so nervous about in the first place. She wished that she'd met these people when she was younger. They were her kind of people, she thinks. 

And she loved the feeling like she belonged, especially when always feeling like she was a square in a family full of circles.

"Okay, okay, enough with your teasing, we need to go." Janice turns to find herself looking directly into James' smirking face. She'd been so consumed in her group, that she hadn't even noticed the boy lurking behind the group silently beside his blue Civic car.

Even in the dim lighting, Janice shamelessly drinks in his long profile—the dark jeans and simple white shirt half tucked into his pants. "C'mon. Get in your cars."

"Hey, Janice, did you know that James's has gotten five parking tickets this past week alone?" Tiffany mutters to Janice, Tiffany's chuckles tinkling as she takes in Janice's hesitant, wide eyed look, whom already knows what was going to happen next. "Safe driving."

"Janice is going with you, we'll take Tiffany," Brielle blurts out of nowhere, and before anyone can do anything, Janice's being pushed in James's direction, almost plowing over the poor dude as she falls.

"Sorry," she whispers to him as he catches her arms to steady herself, throwing a glare at the laughing group behind her, all of them already hurrying into the Brielle's silver Volvo. Traitors.

"When my mom told me I'd have girls falling for me, I didn't realize she meant it literally," James said, and Janice gave him a subtle kick, which made him wince. "Or that it'd hurt this much."

"Suck it up, buttercup," Janice grumbles, denying that the butterflies in her stomach are out of joy, and more out of complete and utter fear. Rational fear.

"What's wrong?" James notices her stoic look. "Are you still scared that I'm a serial killer and going to drive you to an abandoned warehouse or something? Don't worry, I don't have any more dumping ground space left."

"No, just sad I'm stuck with your terrible music selection for a whole fifteen minutes," Janice retorted, throwing him a malicious smile.

James puts the car into drive, the rumbling of the engine still not cutting off his dramatic gasp. "What? I'm, like, totes worth it. I mean, are you sure you're not just awed by my beautiful face? I think you're jelly."

"I think you're more of a goddamn female than I am, James."

"Pfft, don't you know? The only thing straighter than me is my parking, Janice." Janice laughs at that, before turning to look at him as he starts to ease out of the almost desolate place.

"You do know that you've gotten five parking tickets this past week alone, right?" Janice said, Tiffany's words still in her head.

James scoffs. "Your point is?" Half way on the road, James makes a confused face and looks back at his new passenger. "Wait, how do you know that? I thought I told everyone it was three!"

Janice just stares at him. "If I get into a car accident today, you're paying for my life insurance. And medical bills. While you're at it, buy me a car." When he gives her another disbelieving glance, she shouts, "keep your eyes on the road! I'm too young to die! Even at the expense of a sports car!"

"Why'd I get stuck with you again?" James mumbles to himself, sighing, but adhering to her command.

Once she's satisfied that she isn't going to die (her youth is too special), Janice opens up the window a crack, catching herself in the rearview mirror and almost doing a double look. Her hair is still somehow still together, even if it was a little loose, and her clothes weren't wrinkled, nor did she have a disgusting foundation smear.

She's kind of giving herself a pretty large high five for putting a up the minimal make-up rule, considering she'd been touching her face and laughing almost tears into her eyes the entire day. But that's not what she's looking at.

No, she was staring at the—at the glow her skin held, one that she is sure was absent the last time she'd glimpsed through in a mirror before she'd walked out the door in the morning. It was a stunning ablaze that almost made her breath stop, like the moment when she looked at her mother's necklace the moment Alejandro put it on her.

It was the type of radiance that you see on someone when they're happy, when they're blissfully amazed at something or when doing something they're passionate about, like listening to your favourite song or talking to your favourite person. That's the glow she was talking about. That was the glow that she see's, but not in the form of the headlights on the roads or the passing cars that shone through the darkness like beacons. 

She saw it in one incandescent soul whom lit up the streets like the sun.

She saw it in herself.

"What're you looking at?" James asked her, noticing that the red head beside him was lost in thought.

Janice imagines herself as the flame of the heath, brightening up places she used to never think she could bring anything but unwanted shade.

The luminous light in her eyes is burning brighter than the moon in the sky and it takes James' breath away when she turns to face him. "I'm looking at a hope for someone who lost it before she could have it."

She was looking at a miracle; but it was the person beside her that made it happen.

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A/N: AND, SCENE. DRAMATIC STEREOTYPE PLOT TWIST AND DEEP COMMENTS OF SOUL PERCEPTION BY JANICE? CHECK! Oh, and I finally found a song for this story: We're Taking Over by Bea Miller -- really awesome lyrics, also. And thank you so much for your support, all of you! I was going through all the comments the other day and I was literally in tears. I have so much science homework and French studying to do, but it was worth editing this chapter for an hour for you guys. Thank you for being such blessings to a little novice dreamer like myself. I love you all so, so much <3 [ALSO, WATTPAD LAYOUT IS BLESSED AS YOU GUYS]. Regards, Sarena x