Gachapon Gals
"Yeesh, look at that... that...
skank
over there. Seriously, no self-respecting young woman would be caught dead dressed like that." Mia sniffed through an upturned nose. "She's single-handedly setting feminism back three generations with that ridiculous outfit."
Mia was short, barely five feet tall despite vehement claims of being a few inches taller, and--much to her chagrin--possessed a boyish frame that was scrawny rather than sexy.
Even at eighteen years old, her breasts were two little bee stings. Too small to form cleavage or fill out the white blouse of her college uniform. Her mud-brown hair hung in a neat bob, grazing her tragically sharp jawline.
Where other girls her age ripened into early womanhood, her growth was stunted.
Bandy legs stuck out like breadsticks from under her mid-length skirt, dreadfully pale and skinny. She had no discernible curve to her posterior. The gray pleats lay flat across her ironing board backside as though it didn't exist.
"Yeah, totally." Her constant companion Shauna agreed, ever the reliable sidekick. "Someone should write her up for public indecency. This is a family-friendly establishment."
The electronic blips and zings of the arcade created a cacophony around them as they stared at the scandalously attired coed squatting lazily beside a bank of brightly decorated capsule toy machines, lewdly tonguing a cherry lollipop and staring at her phone.
"Did she hem that skirt to get it so short?" Mia seethed. "And the way she's tied the blouse over those... udders instead of buttoning it properly has to be a violation of the school's dress policy. She's wearing stripper heels, for criminy's sake!"
The underdeveloped freshman was most certainly
not
jealous of the bleach-blonde tramp with her glossy tousled tresses, grown-up curves, and exposed swaths of tanned skin.
Sure, her lily-white complexion burned at the suggestion of a sunny day, and freckles marred her cheeks, but that wasn't the point. This girl was shamelessly breaking the rules.
And Mia was a stickler for rules.
Careful adherence and studiousness had earned her the role of class president in high school. 'Teacher's Pet' wasn't a slur in her vocabulary; it was validation. Envious classmates grumbling behind their textbooks didn't matter a whit to her when the valedictorian candidates were announced.
They didn't hold the authority; ergo, they were mere afterthoughts to be forgotten post-graduation.
She had at least four letters of recommendation on her scholarship application, including one from the principal, Mrs. Hellgrave, which was unprecedented.
That stone-faced shrew had been the toughest nut to crack.
"You think the slut needs the lollipop to cover her dick breath?" Shauna snickered. "She probably has pubes stuck to her lipstick--"
Mia skewered her friend with a stern glare, Silencing her with an upraised finger. "The stigmatization of women based solely upon their... promiscuous appearance is not to be tolerated. We mustn't perpetuate the practice of criticizing people who violate expectations of behavior and fashion choices regarding issues related to sexuality."
"Um, we shouldn't?" Shauna sounded uncertain. It was her default setting.
"Absolutely not. We should be empowering women and girls to seize agency over their sexual identity instead of allowing the patriarchy to divide us with their preconceived notions of women's roles and functions within modern society."
Only three weeks into Introduction to Women's Studies 101 and Mia already had the scholastic jargon down pat. Shauna looked confused.
She was loyal to a fault but not the brightest spark.
The freshman fifteen had dogpiled the poor girl. Stress eating and the lack of a disciplined diet had led her to gain weight at an alarming rate. Clearly coddled by her parents, the frizzy-haired ginger had no experience caring for herself or any concept of independence before moving into student housing.
Cut free of the apron strings, Shauna had floated adrift like jetsam. Relying on delivery apps for nourishment until Mia had scooped her up, muffin-top and all. Then she'd quickly fallen into lock-step, latching onto the more confident figure like an anxious barnacle who communicated almost entirely in questions.
"If you say so." She hazarded, chins wobbling, before changing the subject. "We could play the latest Dance Dance Evolution? They've updated the song list and--"
"No." Mia stated emphatically. Something about the pod vending machines captured her attention. Loud graphic designs and shiny colors trapped her gaze--the transparent plastic capsules within gleamed like gemstones waiting to be unearthed. "I want a cute charm for my phone. Hang back, okay? This will only take a sec."
Suddenly apprehensive, she shuffled forward, her black Mary Janes scuffing the worn carpet. The busty bottle-blonde glanced up at her approach, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear.
"Whatcha staring at, huh? Ya need something?"
Her voice was pure delinquent. The accent harsh and challenging. Completely in sync with her fashion choices and gaudy accessories. Pastel heart earrings dangled above bare shoulders, the open school blouse slipped off her shoulders to unveil rolling hillocks of bronzed cleavage stuffed into the cups of a racy red bra.
"You... You're crowding the machine." Mia mustered her haughtiness and pointed at a pod dispenser that had caught her eye. It featured an overly busty anime girl with pink hearts instead of pupils, wearing a far-too-small cheongsam dress, making a victory sign with two fingers. "Have some consideration for others... please."
She spat the begrudging courtesy as though the word was poison.
"Eh, ya mean the gachapon?" The blonde lazily scrutinized her, jerking a thumb at the machine. "This gachapon? Ya sure, lil' mousy?"
The temerity--no, the audacity of this rude bitch. Calling her a denigrating nickname!
"That's the one I'm referring to." Mia ground out through gritted teeth. "If you would be polite enough to move aside..."
They locked stares. Engaged in a brief battle of wills before the skank capitulated with a careless chuckle and a shrug that set her sweater-puppies swaying obscenely.
"Ya got big stones for a small gal, but sure, have at it." She dipped into the bountiful cleft of tit-flesh and produced a fat billfold wrapped around a charge card, which she tapped on the pod machine's pay point. It beeped and flashed green. "Here, the first spin's on me. Learn to loosen up and have fun, lil' mousy. Smell ya later."
Then she was gone. Strutting away on those ridiculous slingback heels, hips swinging and inadequate skirt swishing, turning every male head she passed.
"What a whore." Mia grumbled.
"Does that count as stigmatization?" Shauna asked, stepping up behind her. "Because you just said--"
"No, no. This is different." She waved away the fretful ginger's concerns and cranked the dispenser handle. "There are nuances you wouldn't understand. She did give us a free credit, though. Let's see what we get."
________________
"It's a twofer. I bet that never happens!" Shauna whooped, dancing excitedly. Her burdensome body jiggled in an unsightly fashion. "Hoowee, we hit the jackpot!"
They're only cheap trinkets.
Mia thought, regarding her prizes.
Stop acting like we won the lottery. It's embarrassing.
The open capsule in her palm contained two charms cast into the shapes of a miniature tiger and bunny with tiny LEDs for eyes. They were the type that blinked colorfully when receiving calls and messages--exactly what Mia had hoped for.
"Here." She tossed her friend the bunny. "Tie it to the loop hole on your phone."
