Cécile Rischmann shares an essay about teenage crushes, low-waist jeans, tight-fitting tees and everything in between.
Having been burned once, the wallflowers should have learned their lesson, right? Wrong. Experience, as it turns out, is wildly overrated. And what choice did we have anyway? The beautiful one was in such great demand that we refused to accompany her anywhere. All eyes would be on her as she exited the school gates in her green pinafore, crisp white blouse, and white Keds. She somehow looked like a top fashion model even in uniform, while we resembled walking clotheslines.
So we got ourselves another pen pal—this time a musician. Oh yes. Nothing less than an artist. We had standards now. I hailed from a Goan musician family. She hailed from an Anglo-Indian family with music in her blood. We immediately felt an affinity.