...But on the other hand you're right. She's isn't a phony because she's a real phony. She believes all this crap she believes. You can't talk-
It was one of those spontaneous things that nobody really does for a reason - the way she detached her focus from the book she had so obediently hunched over for the past half hour. There was no noise aside from the occasional gust of wind that whispered into her ear or attempted to turn the page, and there was no explanation for why she had looked up. She just did, and when she did, she saw the two students kissing in the distance. Because neither of the students seemed to be her friends, or even familiar enough to be stared at, she reflected little on the sight, pursed her lips tightly, and continued reading. Or at least, she tried to.
Were they there the whole time? If they were, who knows what they could have done all the while she was engaged in the pages of her novel! Her presence probably served little threat to an amorous adolescent couple, and Vitani didn't take an interest in playing the part of an informer. She just liked Capote.
But Capote's words, as interesting as they were, did not compare to how the thoughts of performing similar acts (kissing, naturally) with Paul captivated her. She imagined that Paul was napping in the boy's dormitory, as this kind of weather often made him drowsy during the mid-day, especially after eating two packages of Every Flavor Beans (only the good ones). It was a fact that she had come to know in due time. He tricked her into eating a soap one.
Vitani slipped her bookmark into place and placed the book on her stomach. She laid herself down on her back and stared at the clouds. For once, they had all looked just like clouds and nothing more, and she liked it that way. Her hand rested just above her brow to shield her eyes from the sunlight as she searched for any deviating clouds.
Soap didn't taste all that bad.