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Okay, so maybe dancing wasn't her forte. As good as Amaravati was at sports, in general (and she was), she would never be a ballerina. Trying was not getting her anywhere. It was considerably easier to waltz, or to tango, anything if it did not involve a lot of leaping about, and twirling. Twirling, as it happened, was a recipe for disaster. This latest in Amara's father's attempts to shape his daughter into a delicate, high society lady was beginning to really grate on her.

"Son of a $*%#," she swore, tapping her foot furiously against the floor in a rather futile effort to make the pang from her latest landing go away. Eventually, it did, and she grumbled to herself, gathering her things up, and heading for the locker room to get changed. It never failed. With every new scheme, she ended up in some ridiculous get up, trying to do something that she'd never managed before.

Why he thought that this would somehow improve her, he didn't know. It was not as though all fine ladies knew more than the waltz, or the tango. Struggling out of her dance gear, and into her uniform, she hopped on one foot, slipping her socks back on one at a time. Standing in her underwear, and a pair of uniform issue shoes, she made up her mind.

Right, it was high time to head to the library, and check out the cook books. She was not willing to purchase an entire book just to acquire a recipe for self pity cookies (or cupcakes), but perhaps if she jotted the #*$@ing thing down, she'd be able to work something out-- or the copier. She could use the copier. It'd save her a lot of bloody effort, and the less time she spent after school putzing around, the more time she could spend eating baked goods.

And 'Mara needed her baked goods, $*#@it. She was not in the mood to ignore cravings, not when she was ^#@# near sure that she'd nearly sprained her ankle. Stupid ballet. Stupid father. ... Well, no, he could be forgiven just based on the sheer volume of designer boots that she had gotten away with purchasing on his buck. So, yeah. Stupid ballet, stupid twirling. Stupid $@%*ing $%#@ed up balance.

Heading toward the library, she slid her book bag onto her shoulder, the ballet gear once again inside it-- she wasn't willing to leave clothes of any kind in the locker room, not even despised ones. When she got to the library, she found herself an impasse. Where were the $@%#ing cook books? "God#$@&#xit;," she muttered, scanning through the stacks. Really, this should've been easy-- if only she'd paid a lick of attention when she'd been given that tour of the library.

Sigh.

Oh god. There was this girl looking at her like she was some kind of poster child for teacher's pet, and Amara was pretty sure that she had to be. What the $#%^? Why did she always draw that kind of attention? Well, okay, Sue couldn't exactly be called a teacher's pet, but when she actually had encounters at Crystal, they tended to go like this. Resting a hand on her hip, she cocked her head to the side slightly, and raised an eyebrow at Khalla.

Did it look like she needed help finding something? "Yes, I need help... only, I can't figure out which of these stacks has cook books." She had refrained from swearing by inches, there, and only because the girl was trying to be helpful. Looking cheerful, and friendly really wasn't the way to Amaravati's heart, but it was a god#$%# good way to avoid getting chewed the $@%# out. Cheerful and friendly didn't need to be ground beneath her boot heel (alas that she didn't have one, anyway, for the time being).

Still, it was $@^$ difficult to hold back the frustrated curses that wanted to spew forth. She'd been at this for a good ten minutes, with nothing to show for it. "I'm looking for one that has a good selection of desserts." Try though she might, she couldn't quite conceal her irritation, though she hoped that the girl didn't take offense, and put it off to her troubles with the books. She didn't like asking for help.

Help had been offered, though, and short of milling about aimlessly in the stacks for an hour or more, she wasn't likely to be able to find anything on her own. Clutching the strap of her book bag, she reeled in her temper. The more the girl smiled, the more sour she felt. Friendly was nice, and all, but friendly was going to really start grating on her if it didn't turn into something else. She didn't need kind smiles, she needed a god#$%^ #@%#ing book.

"Yes, that's it exactly." Well, if nothing else, the girl could certainly be useful. Amara would keep that in mind for the next time she had something she needed to find. ... Or else she would learn the system herself. One would think that by now she would have already done so, but as she spent little enough time in the library, she had never really taken the time it would've required to learn it. Ah well. It was no great loss. It seemed that this girl (who should have been familiar, $%$#it,) was willing to help anyway.

"I'm planning on baking some cupcakes," she said, by way of explanation. She took the first two books, and flipped through them, attempting to find the recipe she wanted. Amara had no particular recipe in mind, but she was looking for something flashy. "... Ah, there we go. Rainbow Cupcakes." Perfect. She could smooth some chocolate icing over them, and call it good. That was pretty much ideal. It was attractive, flashy, and best of all, simple.

"Thank you," she said distractedly, and took her selection over to the copier. Sure, she could've checked out the library book, but that was a lot more effort than she wanted to make. ... That, and it would mean more time hanging around the girl who just would not $*#$ing stop smiling like there was a god#%#@ lightbulb lit up inside her head at all times. How did you get teeth quite that white, anyway?

... Okay, that was actually kind of adorable. Amara felt just a little guilty for putting the girl off so quickly. She was so eager to be of assistance, wasn't she? It wasn't just that she was a goody two shoes. It really wasn't. She wanted to help, badly. That was understandable. At least, on some level. The girl (name unknown) was hovering, and fretting, and looking like a puppy that wanted a bone. In this case, the bone was something to help with, though when the girl started off in the other direction, she felt a bit less guilty for departing.

"You'll have to tell me how the recipe turns out," she said absently, but not without feeling. Cute, approachable girls did not generally meet with rude responses, when she was paying enough attention to notice that she was being rude. "I'll do that. I don't know the first thing about this library. I never really feel the need to use it." What with her obsessive desire to own every book that she wanted to read. She liked owning things. ... She wasn't as keen on borrowing them.

A library was basically an excuse to borrow books. This did not fit neatly into Amara's carefully ordered world of fabulous fabrics and shoes to die for. It did not #%^*ing fit anywhere. Borrowing was for people who could not afford to own, and she was not remotely one of those people. ... Unfortunately, some books were out of print, and she would just have to deal with that. She'd probably have to use the library again. Maybe this girl would be there to show her around.

"By the way, I never did get your name. Mine is Amaravati Priti." It was agony to keep back the god$%*# swears. They were a habit, and one that she was exceptionally comfortable with. When she didn't swear, she felt as though half of her personality was missing. Bloody $^@.

An absolute bloody pleasure? Dear god, was Amara really going to have to play the good little rich girl again? She was #*$&#xin;g tired of that rubbish, after the posing and posturing she'd had to undertake to hook Sue up with a %$*#ing job. With a purely internal sigh, she smiled in return, though the smile was somewhat pained. Playing the good kid was ... just... well, it was irritating. Very, very irritating. She had had her fill of it ages ago. Now it was just piling up beyond her capacity to withstand.

Despite her irritation, however, she managed to hold onto her temper. This Khalla was trying to be friendly, and she could appreciate that, as tepid as the exchange was likely to be. "I'm afraid I don't live in the dorms." Yet. Her father had been threatening her with that terrible fate, however. "And like I said, I don't spend a lot of time in the library." Nor was she likely to have reason to do so in the future. "I prefer to buy my books." There was something a bit awkward about using a book that did not belong to her.

"Anyway, I've got what I came here for. Perhaps we'll talk another time?" Right. She $@%#ing sucked at this friend making thing. Absolutely sucked. Ah well. If Khalla was as nice a girl as she seemed, she probably wouldn't take such shortness to heart. That was the theory, at any rate. It was a real strain to keep her language in check, and at several points she'd nearly slipped up. If she hung around any longer, she was almost guaranteed to. Copy in hand, she headed over to the shelf where she had acquired the book, and replaced it.

It was a $*@$ good thing that the conversation was nearly over-- or wait, was the girl retreating? Yes, she was. It was over then-- because Amaravati had about had all she could stand of bland, prissy talk. That probably wasn't a fair estimation of Khalla, but it was how she felt about the run of the mill talk they'd been having. "... Right. See you," she said to empty air, placing the copy in her bookbag. It was about time to head out of there, and take charge of the kitchen at home before her mother blustered into it.

Maybe if she whipped up some chocolate frosting to go along with the rainbow cupcakes...

Musing to herself, the purple-haired girl stalked off out of the library with only the slightest wave to indicate that she had taken notice of Khalla's wave. Amara was ridiculously bad at making friends. Just bloody ridiculously bad.

Yes, chocolate frosting would be perfect. No tea, though. Perhaps if she served the cupcakes with a glass of milk, then-- wandering through the halls, she quickly forgot about Khalla and the library, far too taken up in how she was going to make the best $#*@ing cupcakes ever. Khalla would not be forgotten for long, but for the moment, baked goods took precedent. Baked goods took precedent over just about anything but new shoes, of course. ... Could sweets be made in the shape of shoes? That was a thought.